Lucius Ahenobarbus Airs His Grievance
I
The pomp and gluttony of Roman banquets have been too often described
to need repetition here; neither would we be edified by learning all
the orgies that Marcus Laeca (an old Catilinian conspirator) and his
eight guests indulged in that night: only after the dinner had been
cleared, and before the Gadesian[57] dancing girls were called in, the
dice began to rattle, and speedily all were engrossed in drink and
play.
[57] From Cadiz, Spain.
Lucius Ahenobarbus soon lost so heavily that he was cursing every god
that presided over the noble game.
"I am ruined next Ides," he groaned. "Phormio the broker has only
continued my loan at four per cent a month. All my villas and
furniture are mortgaged, and will be sold at auction. _Mehercle_,
destruction stares me in the face!"
"Well, well, my dear fellow," said Pratinas, who, having won the
stakes, was in a mood to be sympathetic, "we must really see what can
be done to remedy matters."
"I can see nothing!" was his answer.
"Won't your father come to the rescue?" put in Gabinius, between deep
pulls on a beaker.
"My father!" snapped Ahenobarbus. "Never a sesterce will I get out of
him! He's as good as turned me adrift, and Cato my uncle is always
giving him bad reports of me, like the hypocritical Stoic that Cato
is."
"By the bye," began Gabinius again, putting down the wine-cup, "you
hinted to-day that you had been cheated out of a fortune, after a
manner. Something about that Drusus of Praeneste, if I recollect.
What's the story?"
Lucius settled down on his elbow, readjusted the cushions on the
banqueting couch, and then began, interrupted by many a hiccough
because of his potations.
"It is quite a story, but I won't bore you with details. It has quite
as much to do with Cornelia, Lentulus Crus's pretty niece, as with
Drusus himself. Here it is in short. Sextus Drusus and Caius Lentulus
were such good friends that, as you know, they betrothed their son and
daughter when the latter were mere children. To make the compact
doubly strong, Sextus Drusus inserted in his will a clause like this:
'Let my son Quintus enjoy the use of my estate and its income, until
he become twenty-five and cease to be under the care of Flaccus his
_tutor_.[58] If he die before that time, let his property go to
Cornelia, the daughter of Caius Lentulus, except;' and here Sextus
left a small legacy for his own young daughter, Livia. You see Drusus
can make no will until he is five-and-twenty. But then comes another
provision. 'If Cornelia shall marry any person save my son, my son
shall at once be free to dispose of my estates.' So Cornelia is laid
under a sort of obligation also to marry Quintus. The whole aim of the
will is to make it very hard for the young people to fail to wed as
their fathers wished."
[58] Commercial adviser required for young men under five-and-twenty.
"True," said Gabinius; "but how such an arrangement can affect you and
your affairs, I really cannot understand."
"That is so," continued Ahenobarbus, "but here is the other side of
the matter. Caius Lentulus was a firm friend of Sextus Drusus; he also
was very close and dear to my father. Caius desired that Cornelia wed
young Drusus, and so enjoined her in his will; but out of compliment
to my father, put in a clause which was something like this: 'If
Quintus Drusus die before he marry Cornelia, or refuse to marry
Cornelia at the proper time, then let Cornelia and all her property be
given to Lucius, the second son of my dearly loved friend, Lucius
Domitius Ahenobarbus,' Now I think you will begin to see why Quintus
Drusus's affairs interest me a little. If he refuse to marry Cornelia
before he be five-and-twenty, she falls to me. But I understand that
Lentulus, her uncle, is badly in debt, and her dowry won't be much.
But if Drusus is not married to her, and die before he is twenty-five,
_his property is hers and she is mine._ Do you understand why I have a
little grudge against him?"
"For what?" cried Laeca, with breathless interest.
"For living!" sighed Ahenobarbus, hopelessly.
The handsome face of Pratinas was a study. His nostrils dilated; his
lips quivered; his eyes were bright and keen with what evidently
passed in his mind for a great discovery.
"Eureka!" cried the Greek, clapping his hands. "My dear Lucius, let me
congratulate you! You are saved!"
"What?" exclaimed the young man, starting up.
"You are saved!" repeated Pratinas, all animation. "Drusus's sesterces
shall be yours! Every one of them!"
Lucius Ahenobarbus was a debauchee, a mere creature of pleasure,
without principle or character; but even he had a revulsion of spirit
at the hardly masked proposal of the enthusiastic Greek. He flushed in
spite of the wine, then turned pale, then stammered, "Don't mention
such a thing, Pratinas. I was never Drusus's enemy. I dare not dream
of such a move. The Gods forefend!"
"The Gods?" repeated Pratinas, with a cynical intonation. "Do you
believe there are any?"
"Do you?" retorted Lucius, feeling all the time that a deadly
temptation had hold of him, which he could by no means resist.
"Why?" said the Greek. "Your Latin Ennius states my view, in some of
your rather rough and blundering native tetrameters. He says:--
"'There's a race of gods in heaven; so I've said and still will say.
But I deem that we poor mortals do not come beneath their sway.
Otherwise the good would triumph, whereas evil reigns to-day.'"
"And you advise?" said Ahenobarbus, leaning forward with pent-up
excitement.
"I advise?" replied Pratinas; "I am only a poor ignorant Hellene, and
who am I, to give advice to Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, a most noble
member of the most noble of nations!"
If Pratinas had said: "My dear Lucius, you are a thick-headed,
old-fashioned, superstitious Roman, whom I, in my superior wisdom,
utterly despise," he would have produced about the same effect upon
young Ahenobarbus.
But Lucius still fluttered vainly,--a very weak conscience whispering
that Drusus had never done him any harm; that murder was a dangerous
game, and that although his past life had been bad enough, he had
never made any one--unless it were a luckless slave or two--the victim
of bloodthirsty passion or rascality.
"Don't propose it," he groaned. "I don't dare to think of such a
thing! What disgrace and trouble, if it should all come out!"
"Come, come, Ahenobarbus," thrust in Marcus Laeca, who had been
educated in Catilina's school for polite villains and cut-throats.
"Pratinas is only proposing what, if you were a man of spirit, would
have been done long ago. You can't complain of Fortune, when she's put
a handsome estate in your hands for the asking."
"My admirable fellow," said Pratinas, benevolently, "I highly applaud
your scruples. But, permit me to say it, I must ask you to defer to me
as being a philosopher. Let us look at the matter in a rational way.
We have gotten over any bogies which our ancestors had about Hades, or
the punishments of the wicked. In fact, what we know--as good
Epicureans--is that, as Democritus of Abdera[59] early taught, this
world of ours is composed of a vast number of infinitely small and
indivisible atoms, which have by some strange hap come to take the
forms we see in the world of life and matter. Now the soul of man is
also of atoms, only they are finer and more subtile. At death these
atoms are dissolved, and so far as that man is concerned, all is over
with him. The atoms may recombine, or join with others, but never form
anew that same man. Hence we may fairly conclude that this life is
everything and death ends all. Do you follow, and see to what I am
leading?"
[59] Born about 470 B.C.
"I think so," said the wretched Lucius, feeling himself like a bird
caught in a snare, yet not exactly grasping the direct bearing of all
this learned exposition.
"My application is this," went on Pratinas, glibly. "Life is all--all
either for pleasure or pain. Therefore every man has a right to
extract all the sweetness he can out of it. But suppose a man
deliberately makes himself gloomy, extracts no joy from life; lets
himself be overborne by care and sorrow,--is not such a man better
dead than living? Is not a dreamless sleep preferable to misery or
even cold asceticism? And how much more does this all apply when we
see a man who makes himself unhappy, preventing by his very act of
existence the happiness of another more equably tempered mortal! Now I
believe this is the present case. Drusus, I understand, is leading a
spare, joyless, workaday sort of existence, which is, or by every
human law should be, to him a burden. So long as he lives, he prevents
you from enjoying the means of acquiring pleasure. Now I have Socrates
of imperishable memory on my side, when I assert that death under any
circumstances is either no loss or a very great gain. Considering then
the facts of the case in its philosophic and rational bearings, I may
say this: Not merely would it be no wrong to remove Drusus from a
world in which he is evidently out of place, but I even conceive such
an act to rise to the rank of a truly meritorious deed."
Lucius Ahenobarbus was conquered. He could not resist the inexorable
logic of this train of reasoning, all the premises of which he fully
accepted. Perhaps, we should add, he was not very unwilling to have
his wine-befuddled intellect satisfied, and his conscience stilled. He
turned down a huge beaker of liquor, and coughed forth:--
"Right as usual, Pratinas! By all the gods, but I believe you can save
me!"
"Yes; as soon as Drusus is dead," insinuated the Greek who was already
computing his bill for brokerage in this little affair, "you can raise
plenty of loans, on the strength of your coming marriage with
Cornelia."
"But how will you manage it?" put in the alert Gabinius. "There
mustn't be any clumsy bungling."
"Rest assured," said Pratinas, with a grave dignity, perhaps the
result of his drinking, "that in my affairs I leave no room for
bungling."
"And your plan is--" asked Lucius.
"Till to-morrow, friend," said the Greek; "meet me at the Temple of
Saturn, just before dusk. Then I'll be ready."
II
Lucius Ahenobarbus's servants escorted their tipsy master home to his
lodgings in a fashionable apartment house on the Esquiline. When he
awoke, it was late the next day, and head and wits were both sadly the
worse for the recent entertainment. Finally a bath and a luncheon
cleared his brain, and he realized his position. He was on the brink
of concocting a deliberate murder. Drusus had never wronged him; the
crime would be unprovoked; avarice would be its only justification.
Ahenobarbus had done many things which a far laxer code of ethics than
that of to-day would frown upon; but, as said, he had never committed
murder--at least had only had crucified those luckless slaves, who did
not count. He roused with a start, as from a dream. What if Pratinas
were wrong? What if there were really gods, and furies, and
punishments for the wicked after death? And then came the other side
of the shield: a great fortune his; all his debts paid off; unlimited
chances for self-enjoyment; last, but not least, Cornelia his. She had
slighted him, and turned her back upon all his advances; and now what
perfect revenge! Lucius was more in love with Cornelia than he
admitted even to himself. He would even give up Clyte, if he could
possess her. And so the mental battle went on all day; and the prick
of conscience, the fears of superstition, and the lingerings of
religion ever grew fainter. Near nightfall he was at his post, at the
Temple of Saturn. Pratinas was awaiting him. The Greek had only a few
words of greeting, and the curt injunction:--"Draw your cloak up to
shield your face, and follow me." Then they passed out from the Forum,
forced their way through the crowded streets, and soon were through
the _Porta Ratumena,_ outside the walls, and struck out across the
Campus Martius, upon the Via Flaminia. It was rapidly darkening. The
houses grew fewer and fewer. At a little distance the dim structures
of the Portico and Theatre of Pompeius could be seen, looming up to an
exaggerated size in the evening haze. A grey fog was drifting up from
the Tiber, and out of a rift in a heavy cloud-bank a beam of the
imprisoned moon was struggling. Along the road were peasants with
their carts and asses hastening home. Over on the Pincian Mount the
dark green masses of the splendid gardens of Pompeius and of Lucullus
were just visible. The air was filled with the croak of frogs and the
chirp of crickets, and from the river came the creak of the sculls and
paddles of a cumbrous barge that was working its way down the Tiber.
Ahenobarbus felt awed and uncomfortable. Pratinas, with his mantle
wrapped tightly around his head, continued at a rapid pace. Lucius had
left his attendants at home, and now began to recall gruesome tales of
highwaymen and bandits frequenting this region after dark. His fears
were not allayed by noticing that underneath his himation Pratinas
occasionally let the hilt of a short sword peep forth. Still the Greek
kept on, never turning to glance at a filthy, half-clad beggar, who
whined after them for an alms, and who did not so much as throw a kiss
after the young Roman when the latter tossed forth a denarius,[60] but
snatched up the coin, muttered at its being no more, and vanished into
the gathering gloom.
[60] Four sesterces, 16 cents.
"Where are you leading me?" asked Ahenobarbus, a second time, after
all his efforts to communicate with the usually fluent Greek met with
only monosyllables.
"To the _lanista_[61] Dumnorix," replied Pratinas, quickening an
already rapid pace.
[61] Keeper of a school of gladiators.
"And his barracks are--?"
"By the river, near the Mulvian bridge."
At length a pile of low square buildings was barely visible in the
haze. It was close to the Tiber, and the rush of the water against the
piling of the bridge was distinctly audible. As the two drew near to a
closed gateway, a number of mongrel dogs began to snap and bark around
them. From within the building came the roar of coarse hilarity and
coarser jests. As Pratinas approached the solidly barred doorway, a
grating was pushed aside and a rude voice demanded:--
"Your business? What are you doing here?"
"Is Dumnorix sober?" replied Pratinas, nothing daunted. "If so, tell
him to come and speak with me. I have something for his advantage."
Either Pratinas was well known at the gladiators' school, or something
in his speech procured favour. There was a rattling of chains and
bolts, and the door swung open. A man of unusual height and ponderous
proportions appeared in the opening. That was all which could be seen
in the semi-darkness.
"You are Pratinas?" he asked, speaking Latin with a northern accent.
The Hellene nodded, and replied softly: "Yes. No noise. Tell Dumnorix
to come quietly."
The two stepped in on to the flags of a courtyard, and the doorkeeper,
after rebolting, vanished into the building. Ahenobarbus could only
see that he was standing in a large stone-paved court, perhaps one
hundred and forty feet wide and considerably longer. A colonnade of
low whitewashed pillars ran all about: and behind them stretched rows
of small rooms and a few larger apartments. There were _tyros_
practising with wooden swords in one of the rooms, whence a light
streamed, and a knot of older gladiators was urging them on, mocking,
praising, and criticising their efforts. Now and then a burly
gladiator would stroll across the court; but the young noble and his
escort remained hidden in shadow.
Presently a door opened at the other end of the courtyard, and some
one with a lantern began to come toward the entrance. Long before the
stranger was near, Ahenobarbus thought he was rising like a giant out
of the darkness; and when at last Dumnorix--for it was he--was close
at hand, both Roman and Greek seemed veritable dwarfs beside him.
Dumnorix--so far as he could be seen in the lantern light--was a
splendid specimen of a northern giant. He was at least six feet five
inches in height, and broad proportionately. His fair straight hair
tumbled in disorder over his shoulders, and his prodigiously long
mustaches seemed, to the awed Ahenobarbus, almost to curl down to his
neck. His breath came in hot pants like a winded horse, and when he
spoke, it was in short Latin monosyllables, interlarded with
outlandish Gallic oaths. He wore cloth trousers with bright stripes of
red and orange; a short-sleeved cloak of dark stuff, falling down to
the thigh; and over the cloak, covering back and shoulders, another
sleeveless mantle, clasped under the chin with a huge golden buckle.
At his right thigh hung, from a silver set girdle, by weighty bronze
chains, a heavy sabre, of which the steel scabbard banged noisily as
its owner advanced.
"Holla! Pratinas," cried the Gaul, as he came close. "By the holy oak!
but I'm glad to see you! Come to my room. Have a flagon of our good
northern mead."
"Hist," said the Greek, cautiously. "Not so boisterous. Better stay
here in the dark. I can't tell who of your men may hear us."
"As you say," said Dumnorix, setting down the light at a little
distance and coming closer.
"You remember that little affair of last year," said Pratinas,
continuing;--"how you helped me get rid of a witness in a very
troublesome law case?"
"Ha! ha!" chuckled the giant, "I wish I had the sesterces I won then,
in my coffer now."
"Well," replied Pratinas, "I don't need to tell you what I and my
noble friend here--Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus--have come for. A
little more business along the same line. Are you our man?"
"I should say so," answered Dumnorix, with a grin worthy of a baboon.
"Only make it worth my while."
"Now," said Pratinas, sinking his voice still lower, "this affair of
ours will pay you well; but it is more delicate than the other. A
blunder will spoil it all. You must do your best; and we will do the
fair thing by you."
"Go on," said the Gaul, folding his huge paws on his breast.
"Have you ever been in Praeneste?" questioned Pratinas.
"I matched two _mirmillones_[62] of mine there against two
_threces_[63] of another lanista, and my dogs won the prize; but I
can't say that I am acquainted with the place," answered the other.
[62] Gladiators equipped as Gaulish warriors.
[63] Buckler men.
"You should find out, then," said Pratinas, "for here lies your work."
And then he proceeded, with occasional prompting from the
better-informed Ahenobarbus, to point out the location of Drusus's
estate, and the character and habits of the man whom Dumnorix was
cheerfully proposing to put out of the way. Dumnorix assented and bade
him go on, with hoarse grunts; and when the Greek had concluded,
growled out in his barbarous Latin:--
"But why all this pother? Why not let me send a knave or two and knock
the fellow some dark night in the head? It will save us both time and
trouble."
"My excellent master of the gladiators," said Pratinas, as smoothly as
ever, "you must not take it ill, if I tell you that to have a taking
off such as you propose would be a very bad thing both for you and the
most noble Ahenobarbus. This Drusus is not a helpless wight, without
friends, waiting to become the fair prey of any dagger man.[64] He has
friends, I have learned, who, if he were to be disposed of in such a
rude and bungling manner, would not fail to probe deeply into the
whole thing. Flaccus the great banker, notably, would spare no pains
to bring the responsibility of the matter home, not merely to the poor
wretch who struck the blow, but the persons who placed the weapon in
his hands. All of which would be very awkward for Ahenobarbus. No,
your rough-and-ready plan won't in the least work."
[64] _Sicarius_.
"Well," replied Dumnorix, testily, "I'm a man of shallow wits and hard
blows. If I had been of keener mind, the gods know, I would have been
a free chief among the Nervii, instead of making sport for these
straw-limbed Romans. If what I propose won't answer, what can be
done?"
"A great deal," said Pratinas, who knew perfectly how to cringe low,
yet preserve his ascendency; "first of all, it is very necessary that
the murderers of the amiable Drusus should receive a meet reward for
their crime--that justice should be speedy and severe."
"Man!" cried Dumnorix, griping the Greek's arm in his tremendous
clutch. "What are you asking?"
"By Zeus!" burst out Pratinas, rubbing his crushed member. "What a
grip is yours! Don't be alarmed. Surely you would be as willing to
have one or two of your newest _tiros_ hung on a cross, as stabbed on
the arena--especially when it will pay a great deal better?"
"I don't follow you," said the Gaul, though a little reassured.
"Simply this," said Pratinas, who evidently felt that he was coming to
the revealing of an especially brilliant piece of _finesse_. "My
general proposal is this. Let you and your company march through
Praeneste,--of course carefully timing your march so as to find the
innocent and unfortunate Drusus at his farm. You will have a very
disorderly band of gladiators, and they begin to attack Drusus's
orchard, and maltreat his slaves. You try to stop them,--without
avail. Finally, in a most unfortunate and outrageous outbreak they
slay the master of the house. The tumult is quelled. The heirs proceed
against you. You can only hand over the murderers for crucifixion, and
offer to pay any money damages that may be imposed. A heavy fine is
laid upon you, as being responsible for the killing of Drusus by your
slaves. You pay the damages. Ahenobarbus marries Cornelia and enters
upon the estate. The world says that all that can be done to atone for
Drusus's murder has been done. All of the guilty are punished. The
dead cannot be recalled. The matter is at an end. Ahenobarbus has what
he wished for; you have all the money you paid in damages quietly
refunded; also the cost of the poor rascals crucified, and a fair sum
over and above for your trouble."
"By the god Belew!"[65] cried the enthusiastic Dumnorix. "What a
clever plan! How the world will be cheated! Ha! ha! How sharp you
little Greeks must be. Only I must have fair return for my work, and
an oath that the business shall never be coming to the point of giving
my eyes to the crows. I can't risk my life in anything but a square
fight."
[65] The Gallic sun-god.
"Well," said Pratinas, after a few words with his companion, "how will
this proposition suit you? All expenses, before and after the affair
itself, of course refunded; one hundred thousand sesterces clear gain
for doing the deed, twenty-five thousand sesterces for every poor
fellow we have to nail up to satisfy the law, and you to be guaranteed
against any evil consequence. Is this sufficient?"
"I think so," growled Dumnorix, in his mustaches, "but I must have the
oath."
"The oath?" said Pratinas, "oh, certainly!" and the Greek raised his
hands toward heaven, and muttered some words to the effect that "if he
and his friend did not fulfil their oath, let Zeus, the regarder of
oaths, destroy them," etc., etc.--an imprecation which certainly, so
far as words went, was strong enough to bind the most graceless. Then
he proceeded to arrange with Dumnorix how the latter should wait until
it was known Drusus had gone back to Praeneste, and was likely to stay
there for some time; as to how many gladiators the lanista was to have
ready. Dumnorix complained that the rather recent law against keeping
gladiators at Rome prevented him from assembling in his school any
considerable number. But out of his heterogeneous collection of Gauls,
Germans, Spaniards, Greeks, and Asiatics he would find enough who
could be used for the purpose without letting them know the full
intent with which they were launched against Drusus. At all events, if
their testimony was taken, it would have to be as slaves on the rack;
and if they accused their master of instigating them to riot, it was
what any person would expect of such degraded and lying wretches. So,
after promising to come again with final word and some bags of
earnest-money, Pratinas parted with the lanista, and he and Lucius
Ahenobarbus found themselves again in the now entirely darkened Campus
Martius. Lucius again feared brigands, but they fell in with no
unpleasant nocturnal wayfarers, and reached the city without incident.
Ahenobarbus seemed to himself to be treading on air--Cornelia, villas,
Drusus's money--these were dancing in his head in a delightful
confusion. He had abandoned himself completely to the sway of
Pratinas; the Greek was omniscient, was invincible, was a greater than
Odysseus. Ahenobarbus hardly dared to think for himself as to the plan
which his friend had arranged for him. One observation, however, he
made before they parted.
"You swore that Dumnorix should get into no trouble. May it not prove
expensive to keep him out of difficulty?"
"My dear Lucius," replied Pratinas, "in cases of that kind there is a
line from the Hippolytus of the immortal tragedian Euripides, which
indicates the correct attitude for a philosopher and a man of
discretion to assume. It runs thus,--
"'My tongue an oath took, but my mind's unsworn.'
Not an inelegant sentiment, as you must see."
III
We left the excellent man of learning, Pisander, in no happy frame of
mind, after Agias had been dragged away, presumably to speedy doom.
And indeed for many days the shadow of Valeria's crime, for it was
nothing else, plunged him in deep melancholy. Pisander was not a fool,
only amongst his many good qualities he did not possess that of being
able to make a success in life. He had been tutor to a young Asiatic
prince, and had lost his position by a local revolution; then he had
drifted to Alexandria, and finally Rome, where he had struggled first
to teach philosophy, and found no pupils to listen to his lectures;
then to conduct an elementary school, but his scholars' parents were
backward in paying even the modest fees he charged. Finally, in sheer
despair, to keep from starving, he accepted the position as Valeria's
"house-philosopher."
His condition was infinitely unsatisfactory for a variety of reasons.
The good lady wished him to be at her elbow, ready to read from the
philosophers or have on hand a talk on ethics or metaphysics to
deliver extempore. Besides, though not a slave or freedman, he fared
in the household much worse sometimes than they. A slave stole the
dainties, and drained a beaker of costly wine on the sly. Pisander,
like Thales, who was so intent looking at the stars that he fell into
a well, "was so eager to know what was going on in heaven that he
could not see what was before his feet."[66] And consequently the poor
pedant dined on the remnants left after his employer and her husband
had cleared the board; and had rancid oil and sour wine given him,
when they enjoyed the best. The slaves had snubbed him and made fun of
him; the freedmen regarded him with absolute disdain; Valeria's
regular visitors treated him as a nonentity. Besides, all his
standards of ethical righteousness were outraged by the round of life
which he was compelled daily to witness. The worthy man would long
before have ceased from a vassalage so disgraceful, had he possessed
any other means of support. Once he meditated suicide, but was scared
out of it by the thought that his bones would moulder in those huge
pits on the Esquiline--far from friend or native land--where artisans,
slaves, and cattle, creatures alike without means of decent burial,
were left under circumstances unspeakably revolting to moulder away to
dust.
[66] See Plato's "Theaetetus," 174.
The day of Agias's misfortune, Pisander sat in his corner of the
boudoir, after Valeria had left it, in a very unphilosophical rage,
gnawing his beard and cursing inwardly his mistress, Pratinas, and the
world in general.
Arsinoe with a pale, strained face was moving about, replacing the
bottles of cosmetics and perfumery in cabinets and caskets. Pisander
had been kind to Arsinoe, and had taught her to read; and there was a
fairly firm friendship between the slave and the luckless man, who
felt himself degraded by an equal bondage.
"Poor Agias," muttered Pisander.
"Poor Agias," repeated Arsinoe, mournfully; then in some scorn, "Come,
Master Pisander, now is the time to console yourself with your
philosophy. Call out everything,--your Zeno, or Parmenides, or
Heraclitus, or others of the thousand nobodies I've heard you praise
to Valeria,--and make thereby my heart a jot the less sore, or Agias's
death the less bitter! Don't sit there and snap at your beard, if your
philosophy is good for anything! People used to pray to the gods in
trouble, but you philosophers turn the gods into mists or thin air.
You are a man! You are free! Do something! Say something!"
"But what can I do?" groaned Pisander, bursting into tears, and
wishing for the instant Epicureans, Stoics, Eclectics, Peripatetics,
and every other school of learning in the nethermost Hades.
"_Phui!_ Fudge!" cried Arsinoe. "What is life made for then, if a man
who has spent all his days studying it is as good as helpless! Look at
me! Have I not hands, feet, a head, and wits? Am I not as well
informed and naturally capable as three fine ladies out of every four?
Would I not look as handsome as they, if I had a chance to wear their
dresses and jewels? Have I any blemish, any defect, that makes me
cease to be a woman, and become a thing? Bah, master _Pisander!_ I am
only a slave, but I will talk. Why does my blood boil at the fate of
Agias, if it was not meant that it should heat up for some end? And
yet I am as much a piece of property of that woman whom I hate, as
this chair or casket. I have a right to no hope, no ambition, no
desire, no reward. I can only aspire to live without brutal treatment.
That would be a sort of Elysium. If I was brave enough, I would kill
myself, and go to sleep and forget it all. But I am weak and cowardly,
and so--here I am."
Pisander only groaned and went away to his room to turn over his
Aristotle, and wonder why nothing in the "Nicomachean Ethics" or any
other learned treatise contained the least word that made him
contented over the fate of Agias or his own unhappy situation. Arsinoe
and Semiramis, when he went from them, cried, and cried again, in pity
and helpless grief at their whole situation. And so a considerable
number of days passed. Calatinus could have given joy to the hearts of
several in his household if he had simply remembered that Agias had
not been scourged to death, but sold. But Calatinus feared, now that
he was well out of the matter, to stir up an angry scene with his
wife, by hinting that Agias had not been punished according to her
orders. Alfidius, too, and the other slaves with him, imagined that
his mistress would blame them if they admitted that Agias was alive.
So the household gathered, by the silence of all concerned, that the
bright Greek boy had long since passed beyond power of human torment.
Pisander recovered part of his equanimity, and Arsinoe and Semiramis
began to see life a shade less darkened.
Pratinas occasionally repeated his morning calls upon Valeria. He
seemed much engrossed with business, but was always the same suave,
elegant, accomplished personage that had endeared him to that lady's
heart. One morning he came in, in unusually good spirits.
"Congratulate me," he exclaimed, after saluting Valeria; "I have
disposed of a very delicate piece of work, and my mind can take a
little rest. At least I have roughly chiselled out the matter, as a
sculptor would say, and can now wait a bit before finishing. Ah! what
elegant study is this which is engrossing your ladyship this morning?"
"Pisander is reading from the works of Gorgias of Leontini," said
Valeria, languidly.
"To be sure," went on Pratinas; "I have always had the greatest
respect for the three nihilistic propositions of that philosopher. To
read him one is half convinced of the affirmation that nothing exists;
that if anything existed, the fact could not be known, and that if the
fact were known, it could not be communicated; although of course, my
dear madam, there are very grave objections to accepting such views in
their fulness."
"Of course," echoed Valeria. "Pisander, read Pratinas that little poem
of Archilochus, whose sentiment I so much admired, when I happened on
it yesterday."
Pisander fumbled among his rolls, then read, perhaps throwing a bit of
sarcasm into his tone:--
"Gyges'[67] wealth and honours great
Come not nigh to me!
Heavenly pow'r, or tyrant's state,
I'll not envy thee.
Swift let any sordid prize
Fade and vanish from my eyes!"
[67] A Lydian king whose wealth was placed on a par with that of the
better known Croesus.
"Your ladyship," said Pratinas, appearing entranced by the lines, "is
ever in search of the pearls of refined expression!"
"I wish," said Valeria, whose mind ran from Gorgias to Archilochus,
and then back to quite foreign matters, with lightning rapidity, "you
would tell Kallias, the sculptor, that the head-dress on my statue in
the atrium must be changed. I don't arrange my hair that way any
longer. He must put on a new head-dress without delay."[68]
[68] Such alterations were actually made in Rome.
"Certainly," assented the Greek.
"And now," said the lady, half entreating, half insinuating, "_you
must_ tell me what has made you so abstracted lately; that business
you mentioned, which compelled you to restrict your calls."
"My dear Valeria," said Pratinas, casting a glance over at Pisander in
his corner, "I dislike mysteries; but perhaps there are some things
which I had better not reveal to any one. Don't be offended, but--"
"I am offended," exclaimed the lady, striking her lap with her hands,
"and I accept no '_buts_.' I will be as silent about all your affairs
as about the mysteries of the _Bona Dea_.[69]"
[69] To whose mysteries only women were admitted.
"I believe I can be confident you will not betray me," said Pratinas,
who in fact considered precautions that were necessary to take among
so blundering and thick-witted people as the Latins, almost
superfluous. He muttered to himself, "I wouldn't dare to do this in
Alexandria,--prate of a murder,--" and then glanced again toward
Pisander.
"Pisander," said Valeria, sharply, noting Pratinas's disquietude, "go
out of the room. I don't need you at present."
Pisander, unlike many contemporaries, was affected by a sensitive
conscience. But if there was one man whom he despised to the bottom of
his soul, it was Pratinas. Pratinas had lorded it over him and
patronized him, in a way which drove the mild-tempered man of learning
to desperation. The spirit of evil entered into the heart of Pisander
as he left the room. The average chatter of Pratinas and Valeria had
been gall and wormwood to him, and he had been glad enough to evade
it; but here was Pratinas with a secret which he clearly did not wish
Pisander to know. And Pisander, prompted by most unphilosophical
motives, resolved within himself to play the eavesdropper. The boudoir
was approached by three doors, one from the peristylium, one from
Valeria's private sleeping chamber, one from the servants' quarters.
Pisander went out through the first, and going through other rooms to
the third, took his station by that entrance. He met Arsinoe, and took
the friendly maid into his plot, by stationing her on guard to prevent
the other servants from interfering with him. Then applying his ear to
the large keyhole of the door, he could understand all that was
passing in the boudoir. What Pratinas was saying it is hardly
necessary to repeat. The Greek was relating with infinite zest, and to
Valeria's intense delight and amusement, the story of the two wills
which placed Drusus's estate and the hand of Cornelia within reach of
Lucius Ahenobarbus; of the manner in which this last young man had
been induced to take steps to make way with an unfortunate rival.
Finally, in a low, half-audible tone, he told of the provisional
arrangements with Dumnorix, and how very soon the plan was to be put
in execution.
"And you must be sure and tell me," cried Valeria, clapping her hands
when Pratinas concluded, "what the details of the affair all are, and
when and how you succeed. Poor Quintus Drusus! I am really sorry for
him. But when one doesn't make use of what Fortune has given him,
there is nothing else to do!"
"Yes," said Pratinas, sententiously. "He who fails to realize what is
for him the highest good, forfeits, thereby, the right to life
itself."
Pisander slipped away from the keyhole, with a white face, and panting
for breath. Briefly, he repeated what he had gathered to Arsinoe, then
blurted out:--
"I will go in and meet that well-oiled villain face to face. By Zeus!
I will make him feel the depths of an honest man's scorn and
indignation!"
"You will be a fool," replied Arsinoe, quietly, "if you do. Valeria
would instantly dismiss you from her service."
"I will go at once to Drusus," asserted Pisander.
"Drusus may or may not be convinced that what you say is true,"
answered the girl; "but he, I gather from what you repeat, has just
gone back to Praeneste. Before you could reach Praeneste, you are a dead
man."
"How so?" demanded the excited philosopher, brandishing his fists. "I
am as strong as Pratinas."
"How little wisdom," commented Arsinoe, "you do gather from your
books! Can't you see Pratinas is a reckless scoundrel--with every
gladiator in Dumnorix's school at his call if needs be--who would stop
at nothing to silence promptly the mouth of a dangerous witness? This
isn't worse than many another case. Don't share the ruin of a man who
is an utter stranger! We have troubles enough of our own."
And with this consolation Arsinoe left him, again consumed with
impotent rage.
"Villain," fumed Pisander to himself, "if I could only place my
fingers round your neck! But what can I do? What can I do? I am
helpless, friendless, penniless! And I can only tear out my heart, and
pretend to play the philosopher. I, a philosopher! If I were a true
one, I would have had the courage to kill myself before this."
And in this mental state he continued, till he learned that Pratinas
had taken his farewell, and that Calatinus wished him--since all the
slaves seemed busy, and the poor house philosopher was often sent on
menial errands--to go to the _Forum Boarium_,[70] and bring back some
ribs of beef for a dinner that evening. Pisander went as bidden,
tugging a large basket, and trying to muster up courage to continue
his walk to the Fabrician Bridge, and plunge into the Tiber. In
classic days suicide was a commendable act under a great many
circumstances, and Pisander was perfectly serious and sincere in his
belief that he and the world had been companions too long for the good
of either. But the jar and din of the streets certainly served to make
connected philosophical meditation upon the futility and unimportance
of human existence decidedly unfruitful. By the time he reached the
cattle-market the noise of this strange place drove all suicidal
intentions from him. Butchers were slaughtering kine; drovers were
driving oxen off of barges that had come down the Tiber; sheep and
goats were bleating--everywhere around the stalls, booths, shops, and
pens was the bustle of an enormous traffic. Pisander picked his way
through the crowd, searching for the butcher to whom he had been
especially sent. He had gone as far as the ancient shrine of Mater
Matuta, which found place in these seemingly unhallowed precincts,
when, as he gazed into the throng before him, his hair stood as it
were on end, his voice choked in his throat, and cold sweat broke out
over him. The next moment his hand was seized by another, young and
hearty, and he was gasping forth the name of Agias.
[70] Cattle-market.